Never Forgive Me
by Jynx'sbox
Summary: Sequel to Little Red Letter. Bunny's cage was overturned and Nny was kneeling between it and the couch, disbelief and grief etched into his face . . .
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

In The Aftermath

The police had been called, at exactly 9:24 pm, to the house 775 on a noise complaint. Apparently the Hendersons, an extremely old couple across the street, had heard strange shrieking and screeching noises. The old woman told the police that she believed the recluse family that lived there were devil worshipers and she could swear that they were sacrificing the area's stray cat population to the Dark Lord of the Underworld.

"I always thought that family was a tad strange. Never leave the house those people, 'cept for their boy. What was their boy's name, Mike?" The old lady's hair curlers bounced as she screamed at her couch potato husband reclining in a Lazy Boy.

"Wha-?"

"Those people 'cross the street, what was their boy's name?"

"Whose boy?"

"Those people that live across from us. Oh goodness, the-the Carsons, no, the Ca-Ca-Caseys, Ca-Casael . . . the Casils, Mike! The Casils across the street, what was their boy's name?"

"Tha Casils? Tommy, wasn't it?"

"No, you silly old coot, that's the Hamilton's kid. Think, old man, he had dark hair that boy, and was real skinny-like. He used to play with that scary Mexican kid that moved away last year, Pepito."

"Oh, you mean Todd."

X

More police were coming, lights flashing, ready and armed. A two person unit had arrived a quarter till to find the house locked up tight. After busting the door open they'd been driven back by the most horrible smell.

"What the fuck is that?" One police man had gagged. The other pressed his sleeve to his nose and pulled out his piece. The first followed his partner in.

"Clear."

"All clear in the back."

"Check this out." There were strange dark stains on the white tile of the kitchen floor. They didn't touch it to find out if it was or wasn't fresh blood.

One officer took to the staircase while the other covered him at ground level. As the first cop rounded the balcony the other followed until he noticed something he hadn't seen before. At first glance he took it for a storage closet but upon shining his light into the partially opened door he noticed another set of stairs.

Cop one discovered the source of the smell and immediately called for back up. He found Mrs. Casil dead, lashed out and covered in dried vomit on her bed.

Cop two discovered the source of the noise complaint and immediately called for his partner. He found Mr. Casil dead, his kneecaps busted and nailed to the floor; fingernails ripped off and with his face and throat sliced wide open. He was surrounded in his own blood with a small white bottle and the murder weapon near by.

"I found the wife upstairs," the first cop muttered as he squatted down to get a better look at the father. He shook his head and took a step back to breathe. "dead of course. I checked all over but could find the boy."

"Kidnapped?" Cop one shrugged.

"Or running, or hiding, or dead in a ditch; all in all he's not in the house."

X

"We'll send out a search party for the kid. If he was abducted it's likely the poor bastard's either dead or will be soon."

"We don't know that yet; don't go condemning the son when we don't know what really happened."

"Do you think the kid did this?"

"I don't know."

The others had arrived on the scene. Police cars were swarming the Casil house, scouring the area, looking for any clue as to what had happened on this very dark and heavy night.

As if drawn to the horrific event, all of the neighbors were also outside. They stood in a semicircle just watching the cops, just watching and whispering.

"I always thought they were a strange bunch."

"I heard some burglar busted in and shot everyone."

"Nu-uh, I heard a psycho chopped the whole family to pieces and stuffed them in the oven, that's why the smell's so bad.

"I think it was that Todd kid, I always knew he was a freak."

"Sarah! Stop picking on the poor guy. For all you know he could be dead too."

"So what! Maybe if he'd spent a little less time being weird and more time just acting normal, some homicidal maniac wouldn't have butchered him and his parents."

"His mother's a druggie, you know that?"

"Really? I bet it was the mom."

"I don't think so, I think it was the dad, the guy always was an asshole."

"I remember him; he used to yell at us a lot."

"Poor Todd, he always was so nice, a little weird as well yeah but never mean."

"He was a good boy that one," and this was Mr. Henderson. "used to always help out when needed. True tragedy, the passing of that young man."

"Todd Casil needed to get a life."

"Now you listen here, you swat nosed brats! Todd Casil was a better person than anyus' could ever hope to be. It's ten years bad luck to speak ill of the dead! Now git!"

And the group of kids dissipated. Mr. Henderson gave a sad smile to the gaping mouth of 775.

"I do hope that wherever you are, Todd Casil," He tipped his hat in the house's direction, "you're finally at peace."

And with that Mr. Henderson headed home, unaware that the house of 777 had been listening to the words he spoke. Houses are, in many ways, like people. They tell stories and keep secrets. This particular house would soon have its own story to tell. With its newest resident it was sure to have one of the most interesting tales ever told by a house.

X

Beneath the floor boards of a basement, through an old and dusty tunnel, up several staircases, and past many doors without keys there were strange devices. These odd machines came in many torturous and dreadful designs. There was one that could pull your arms from their sockets while simultaneously sawing your legs off and drilling a hole through your ear. There was another that would twist your head any number of degrees while slowly bending your spine into the most interesting shapes and stretching your arms to touch your toes with out bending over.

The occupant of the house of 777, however, had his own favorite room. Just below the surface level was a room filled with the most fascinating equipment. You see along every wall were hooks and pegs. And propped up on hooks and pegs were the things of any serial killer's greatest dream.

Knives, drills, (and other normal house hold items such as nails and hammers) daggers, meat hooks, chains, heavy padlocks, leather and rope restraints, several work benches and tables, straight jackets, scalpels, sawmills; the list went on and on.

Thin fingers, long and slender_, rough and bony_, reached out to run along the razorblade-sharp edge of one particular knife. _Everything felt hazy and grey_. At the end of the handle a wicked smiley face grinned at him.

Squee was entranced. Everything in this room glittered; every blade, every chain link, it all looked brand new.

He'd been wandering this place for what seemed like hours with no sign of Johnny.

"Nny!?" Squee called out for what seemed like the fifteenth time. "Nny are you here?" No one answered.

Slowly he moved towards the last staircase. _Each step up made him feel heavy, his ears fuzzy and in the background he could feel a faint buzzing._ _Like the noise he'd heard when he'd last spoken with his neighbor._

_buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz do what you think is best zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_

"Johnny?" and the _room_ _felt as if it were in a fog, like a spring mist only cold and clammy_. He reached the other door, as it was partially open, and Squee could see some sort of reddish orange light. It reminded him of the light of a fire; _constantly moving and changing_, never standing still.

"Johnny . . ." his voice was low as he pulled the door. It opened without the slightest sound. Squee stood in the doorway for a moment in awe of the _complete _silence. There was a television in front of a couch and the screen had lit up the room.

The volume seemed to be completely turned down. Peoplewere talking but no sounds came out. It scared Squee this suffocating blanket around him. Without shutting the door he took one step then another, then another until finally he was kneeling right before the T. v.

He reached out to turn the knob when a voice stopped him.

"_What are you doing here?"_

Squee jumped up and turned to see the door to the various basements had closed.

X

Each installment of this trilogy is a sort of creature on its own. Normally I would tell you that you shouldn't have to read every previous installment to understand but I think with this one you should. The one before this is called Little Red Letter. I say this because this will probably be even stranger than LRL since its supposed to act as a bridge between the two major points, the beginning story(LRL-Squee) and the end(Johnny).

There will also be side stories alluding to other characters in the comic such as Devi, Jimmy, Tess, and such. I feel their stories, while all of this is happening, deserve to be told, don't you?

_Review for the next chapter_. And yes I'm sorry if it seems I'm holding my updates for ransom but I need to know you guys are interested. If I feel you guys aren't I'll either assume the story is crap or that it needs to be revamped and I'll take it down for fixin'. This is _only_ to better my writing skills, _not_ to be mean or anything.

Thanks for reading and sorry for the abnormally long a/n.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_I still remember the world . . ._

"_What are you doing here?"_ And he knew it was Johnny speaking to him with words that could cut a person where they stood, in a voice that sounded like knives sawing bones and the ripping of flesh.

There he stood in an empty room in front of a door that had closed on its own.

"Johnny?" And he wanted so desperately to open the door and look down those steps for the other. He needed to see him, needed to be sure he was real.

_You named him Johnny?_

"Nny-?" His hand reached out, fingers brushing cold metal. _He needed to be sure_, even though he was still afraid of him, even though everything he'd ever known and been taught told him to run out the front door. Bolt, get out, leave it all behind, leave him behind, leave the past behind-

Squee's eyes blackened, he couldn't see, couldn't breathe. His head was swimming in an ocean of yesterdays and it was so abrupt and forever that he was drowning.

Mom, Dad, his parents; they were both gone, both dead, both his fault.

"Nny, Please-!" What was he becoming? What was he losing? That whisper of a touch. That tendril of smoke caressing his face, the feel of silk sliding off your shoulder, something leaving, being lost. It was so intangible that it danced around his grasping fingers. He couldn't get it back, he'd never get it back. Something had been lost, fallen out of place and the gears were twisting and spinning with nothing to turn, nothing to run.

"I need-!" but then something happened. He cried out, fingers now grasping the back of his head. He clutched in agony, his eyes seeing someone who wasn't him, ears hearing a voice so familiar.

Image after image, the grey coming back, slashing his eyesight. It was swallowing him whole, wrapping him in someone else. He didn't want to know him, didn't want to be him. It was all he could feel-in his arms, in his legs-his mind submerged by and into this other person.

"_What are you-?"_

"G-get out-t . . . get out of . . . meIdon'twant-this-!"

"_People, like insects, like parasites. They destroy and feed on others, sucking them dry of what makes them who they are . . ."_

"I don't-Idon'twantthis-I don't want this-GET OUT OF MY-my"

"_. . . turning them into zombies of their former selves. They wander around in a haze, less of a person, less than human, with the seed of something horrific growing inside of them."_

"my-my-my-muh . . . my head-get out of me, please . . ."

"_And when the time is just right that little monster in them will wake from its slumber. It will break free, ready like a shriveled tick, like a new stomach worm, for a host of its own . . ."_

"N-nny?"

"_And the cycle continues. A twisted game of merry-go-round. A sad sort of Simon-says. It'll never stop, it'll never stop . . ."_

"Nny-please."

"_I could kill every child playing the game; every single one sitting on their plastic thrones unaware and the damn thing will just keep turning. Around and around and around and around and . . ."_

There was a cyclone of noise circling his head. Everything was so angry, so loud roaring in his ears like a whirlwind, raging like a storm. Gears grinding, heavy metal cogs and pipes, pulleys and levers, moving out of turn. Nothing was in sync anymore. He was screaming and screaming but no sound escaped his throat.

"_And the cycle continues on and on, the bad things happen over and over again . . ."_

Then the noise ceased. Squee uncovered his ears, the whisper of Johnny's voice on his tongue.

"_It'll never stop . . ."_

X

After that terrifying experience, the first in a very long time, Squee wandered the basements to find he was utterly alone again. Several times, he almost got lost but somehow always managed to find his way back to the surface.

Days passed, days of avoiding the fresh air outside as much as possible, days of only leaving when he had to. He wanted to be here when Johnny got back. Squee wanted to see him so bad.

_You named him Johnny_ Laughter

Hysterical laughter. His father mocking him, his father screaming. The police cars next door eventually vanished. People quit stopping in the street to stare at the investigation going on next door. Soon after even the investigation itself came to a halt.

He slept on the living room couch. Often he would turn the TV on to fight the boredom he didn't want to admit he felt. Squee'd wait for hours on end with only the creaking of branches on the glass of the windows to keep him company. In the night he'd dream of yellow vomit staining his mother's blotchy skin, of blood pouring over his fingers. When he'd wake up, darkness would only be chased away by the moonlight pouring in through the windows.

Sometimes little thoughts would pipe up about things he'd never noticed before. Things like glass in the windows or the absence of people downstairs. Squee didn't know what to think when these thoughts made themselves known.

"_There was never glass before, only wood planks."_

He tried not to think about it too much.

"_It's kinda strange."_

Sometimes he wished he could click a magical mute button to switch off the voice.

"_No bones, no bodies."_

He couldn't sleep sometimes, not that he minded. No sleep meant no reminders of what'd happened.

"_It's almost as if no one ever lived here."_

Squee, now sitting on the couch with his knees propped up to his chin, snarled.

_You named him Johnny?_

He was really starting to get sick of the questions.

X

One day on his way up from his wanderings, after many weeks of staying there, Squee heard footsteps above him. He was in the room again, the one full of interesting things, moving between the tables and chains hung from the ceiling when a creak caught his attention.

The closer he got to the staircase the louder and clearer the voices got.

"_. . . been gone . . . things moved."_

"_No one . . . alone."_

"_Next . . . lights on."_

"_That little boy . . . still there . . . changed, Johnny."_

"_Someone was here . . ."_

"_. . . think I . . . noticed someone."_

"_Stop lying . . . next . . . lights."_

"_That little boy is still there."_

"_He's not a little boy."_

"_Nine years constitutes 'little' to me."_

"_Squee isn't nine years old."_

"_Who?"_

"_Shut up!"_

"_As much as I see your anger as a good thing you should really consider what you're saying. The child next door is only nine."_

Squee slowly climbed up the steps on his hands and knees.

"_Is he still here?"_

"_Is __**who**__ still here, Nny?"_

"Nny!" Todd breathed then covered his mouth when the movement upstairs stopped. A soft shudder shot through him and his skin tingled when he next heard Johnny speak.

"_He's still here."_

That voice, like needles pressing into his ears, low and dangerous.

"_Nny, be reasonable. I've been here the whole time and have seen no one enter your home."_

"_I know he's here, I can hear him downstairs."_

"_Well, in any case, this could prove interesting."_

"_Shut up, I can still hear him."_ Tears glistened around Squee's eyes. That voice, he knew what it meant. Johnny didn't want him here. Johnny was going to kill him. Just because the man had listened to him, had helped him, didn't mean that he really liked Squee. Didn't mean he was the same person to Johnny as he'd been as a kid.

As slowly and quietly as his trembling limbs could take him Squee climbed back down. He whimpered as the footsteps got closer and closer to the door. Thinking quickly he grabbed the nearest knife and slipped into the shadows.

X

Reverend Meat watched quietly as Johnny moved closer and closer to the door.

"I'm pretty sure there's no one here." But he didn't seem to hear him. His hand was reaching out slowly for the knob. He seemed entranced.

"Johnny, why don't you go visit the little boy next door for yourself. You'll see him up there, in his bed, sleeping and put these odd suspicions to rest."

"He's still here."

"I see your desensitization didn't go very well." Johnny held up one hand, hushing the burger boy for a brief moment. After a few minutes he spoke up again. His voice blurring with the constant hum of noise in the background.

"What are you going to do if he _is _down there?" Nny seemed to think about this for a moment before he finally opened the door. The blackness that the creaky wooden stairs disappeared down to seemed impenetrable.

"I don't know."

X

_Rrrriiiiiinngg_

_Click_

_. . . . Hello?_

_. . . (static)_

_-zzzzstcshhhh-ohnny? Johnny is that you?-ctscshhhhhhhhh-_

_Squeegee?_

_-Yeah-_

_szzzzscsstshhhhhh_

_-John-_

_What?_

_- said I didn't think you were home-_

_Okay . . ._

_-m not-_

_What?_

_-I said I'm not okay-_

_shshsssssstssscszzzzsts . . ._

_-st needed to ask you- . . . . . –don't know what to do- . . . . –can't handle it any- . . . . –dad says horrible- . . . . –what I did to them- . . . –do-_

_. . . Do what you think is best._

_-think I'm losing my-_

_. . .Don't let them do it._

_-What?-_

_Don't let them control you._

_-I want to hurt them, but they're- . . . – parents-_

_tzzzzsszttszzzzzzzzzzzssssszszzzzzzzz_

_-they're supposed to- . . .-love me- . . .-ed, right?-_

_Do you feel loved?_

X

Tbc.

Review for the next part please.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

And as he descended down those dark and blurred stairs he could feel the other's breathing, could feel their fear. Something registered, little whispers in his ear telling him to look harder, find him in the mess of bones and rotting flesh. It was a stink that didn't register.

Johnny's eyes passed over every corner of the room with the liquid fluidity of a hunter possessed. He was slipping into something comfortable, something he knew well beyond the bonds that he and Squee shared. He needed this as it was all he really understood.

But, he realized he couldn't slip in too far. Squee could get hurt, and the last thing he wanted to do was harm him in any way. Then again . . . maybe he did want to hurt the boy. Maybe that was why he grabbed his favorite knife as he slipped between the toppled tables and rusty chains swimming from the ceiling. Maybe he wanted to stop something before it changed. Before Squee changed.

_Because things are always moving like the wind in the trees and the clouds in the sky. Even as we hurt we die, even as we kill we survive, life goes on with or without us. We can fight the tide and be left behind or allow ourselves to be swept away. We can drown in this insufferable reality or try to change it and drown anyways. Give in and die, fight and die . . ._

A soft voice, one of many, the one that made sense, the one that could pacify him as no one else could. Yes it spoke of horrors he'd like to forget, yes it told of things he'd actually like to change, but it also spoke an untainted truth that he couldn't deny.

X

Squee lay hiding in one of the few deep set doorways in this long hall he could find. His fingers gripped the thick black handle of the knife he was holding. At the end of the wrapped leather he noticed a ball, it was yellow and shiny. In thick black lines grinned a wicked smiley face.

He gave a shuddering breath, not sure how to feel about what he was doing. Squee almost wanted to sit there until Johnny found him but knew he didn't have the courage. He was afraid.

Wiping a few frustrated tears from his eyes Squee scooted further into the doorway, his fingers scratching at the mouth of the smiley face. He felt cold, gooseflesh tickled his arms as a chill from the crack under the door next to him brushed his legs. He wondered what could breathe this far underground.

It was then he thought about the pigs, those two Styrofoam ones. What did it mean? Those voices, he'd heard them before. Was he crazy? Had he finally lost his mind?

He had violently and brutally tortured and killed his parents. He realized that at this point he was far beyond questioning his sanity.

A hysterical sob shook him, 

_There is no running from it. This will be your responsibility here soon._

_Yes, you are doomed to a lifetime of pain and suffering._

_So if you're having any sudden urges to end yourself, please inform us._

_We believe it only fair to . . ._

Talking pigs? PIGS? He was swirling and swirling. Squee slammed his hand against the door beside him. He wanted to go back, he wanted so desperately to run towards the front door. To push it open against all these insane thoughts and ideas, against everything that _Mr. Fuck_ and _Doughboy_ had said. Something about a wall and blood, even though the sight of it made him sick they said he needed it.

_Our Master . . ._

His ears were buzzing and nothing he did would make it stop. They were buzzing and listening to the quiet, waiting for the _clop clop clack _of Nny's shoes against the dirty hardwood floor. Somewhere in the distance he thought he could hear someone screaming.

He wanted to open that door and feel the cool night touch him. He wanted to see the moon and stars one last time before dying.

_You can run as far as you'd like, but it won't save you._

_The end has already embedded its hooks into your soul._

_You belong here . . ._

Death seemed much more appealing now, for some reason. Slowly Squee stood, his sneakers squeaking, jeans sticking to his legs. The knife he held in a death grip had left an imprint deep in the hollow of his palm. It was heavy, being gripped by inexperienced hands. 

He leaned against the wall, tired. Johnny was nowhere to be seen and Squee took that as a good sign. Maybe he'd given up.

Driven purely by impulse Squee began to wander back the way he'd come.

_. . . and you'll remain here until you die!_

He started to run, blurring past open doorways and grotesque paintings, past startled pigs and angry walls. The knife he was still holding grinned as it blurred as well. For so long it had been left untouched, for so long it had stayed propped against the wall. How glad it was to have such an unstable new master.

_If he can die at all._

_Shut up, Fuck!_

_You might want to get over this little episode of yours soon, my boy, we can only pacify it for so long without blood._

Little episode, what a wonderful way to describe the means by which he was trying to run away. From what he'd done, hadn't done, wanted to do.

X

For that one moment everything had paused. Johnny stood in the middle of a long hallway, the hand curled around his favorite knife strong and practiced. Somewhere in a distant yesterday Squee stood in that exact spot, almost overlapping him. It looked as though someone were pulling a ghost from the other by ripping them apart at the seams. Squee's hair seemed to end in Johnny's skull and Johnny, so much darker than Squee, so much older seemed to be all of his life, the blue black hair, his skin, the dark circles around his eyes. So much more and less than the other, they breathed as one and for the tiniest second they were just a little less than a whole person.

X

Squee stumbled, tripping over his own two feet. The air had grown cold around him quite suddenly, throwing him off for the briefest of moments. Deciding that _nothing_ was worth investigating the strange occurrence, Squee moved on. His shoes _Tapped_ and _Scuffed_ against the floor as he ran.

_TAP TAP Tap Tap tap tap . . ._

Nothing was behind him, just as he felt strangely confidant that nothing was in front of him either. He almost wasn't sure how to get back but felt if he didn't think about it too much he'd get where he needed to go eventually.

As he rounded a corner he practically fell through an entrance into a familiar hall. Looking back and forward, right to left Squee tiredly ambled towards a familiar door. He was back in that room, the dark one filled with shiny metal chains and wickedly wonderful weapons. It felt as though he'd been for going for miles only to find he'd been running in circles.

He slouched over, catching his breath. His head was pounding like an angry fist against a door, it was so loud he could hear the sound of the hand beating on the wood.

_THUNK THUNK THUD! _

No, wait. Someone really was pounding at the door. 

Glancing nervously at the hall behind him Squee decided that answering it himself was better than Johnny coming back upstairs. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, tracing the flush of his cheeks, sliding down his neck until it finally disappeared against his shirt. It was an uncomfortable feeling and yet he couldn't bring himself to wipe the perspiration away. His arms wouldn't cooperate with him; they only hung limply at his sides.

_THUNK THUD THUD_

And the pounding had grown rather annoying. Deciding to get the whole ordeal over with Squee forced himself to climb those stairs and hurry across the front room to the door.

"It's about time you answered. I've been _standing_ here for a whole five minutes! Don't you have any manners?" Squee's jaw dropped. A man dressed in a mud brown suit, flicking back shiny blonde hair, stared straight at him. Suddenly Squee felt the urge to rip out those blonde tresses at the root. He steadied his grip on the knob and stepped back inside.

"Just where do you think you're going! I have a time limited-offer regarding the mega xmr toilet seat-!" Squee slammed the door shut. This time he was sure the pounding was only in his head

_Close a door_

_Open one_

"IS YOUR MOTHER HOME!"

X

For every solicitor he carved a line into the door. Sixteen so far, sixteen within a two day period. SIXTEEN people telling him that their product would change his life. SIXTEEN **banging** on his front door. 

Squee started stabbing the wall violently but stopped when the pounding started again. Squee stood very slowly, pulling himself up by the knife jutting out of the wall. Looking out the window he could see it was the toilet seat man, back with support it would seem.

_Don't __answerthedoorterriblethingscouldhappenjustwalkawayDON'TANSWERTHEDOOR. _

_They don't know_

_. . . please . . ._

_They don't know_

_They don't know_

_They don't know_

_Just walk away, go downstairs . . . don't answer the door, don't answer the door, don't answer the door . . ._

He stood in a stupor just watching the people outside. The woman, she too wore a suit. It was brown, like the man's only in her hands there was a blinding white toilet seat. She was smiling widely at toilet-seat man and he; staring smugly down at her. Vivid red hair fluttered slightly as she turned. Suddenly she was looking right at him, that kind smile on her face. She nudged the man and he waved at Squee.

She was motioning towards the door.

_Just walk away, go downstairs . . . just walk away . . . just walk away . . . don't answer the door . . . don't answer the door . . ._

X

"Trust me Margaret, this kid's such a dope. Bet he has cash up the wazoo! I've been by this place a dozen times and haven't seen anyone drive in. Must live alone."

"House sure looks like it needs some work. Are you sure this kid's a buyer, Mike?" Margaret pushed a flyaway strand of her red hair behind an ear. 

"You know what the boss says; 'The poor are merely hoarders of their wealth!'. It's a guaranteed sale, Margaret!" Mike raised a hand and started banging on the front door. By the looks of it, and the way it wobbled, if the kid didn't open up Mike's banging would. 

Margaret's eyes moved from watching his hand to the rest of him. He was handsome, to say the least; shiny blonde hair, tall frame, dazzling smile, gorgeous brown eyes. How lucky she was to be on a run with him. When he turned to look at her she knew she'd been caught. He almost sneered as he looked her up and down. A breeze tangled her long auburn hair and it took a moment to get it under control again.

While struggling to tame the unruly tresses Margaret caught a glimpse of someone at the window. It was a boy, a teenager, watching them with a distant expression. She smiled, the poor thing, he looked terrible. From what she could see the kid looked underfed and was a ghost against the shadows around him. How long had he been cooped up in there?

Mike was still pounding on the door. She gave him a quick nudge and a pointed look at the window. He grinned and waved to the little boy who seemed to remember him. His eyes narrowed in disgust.

Margaret waited until he was looking at her again then nodded towards the door. The boy just stared at her for a few moments before shaking his head and disappearing into the darkness of the house.

Mike heaved a great sigh.

"Well, this place is a bust." He turned and made to go back to the car. Margaret remained on the front door step staring at the window. Even though she couldn't see him, she was sure he was still watching them. She turned and stared at the door for a moment, gave the window one last glance before walking away herself.

Just as she reached the end of the entryway there was a click and the door behind her creaked open.

X

Yeah, cliffhanger I know; DIE JYNX DIE! My apologies for taking so long to update. I'm not going to feed you a crappy excuse only tell you that I've got a deadline for an original story I'm writing and I fell behind. Review for the next chapter. Reviews encourage me to update faster. Sad and pitiful but true.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Last chapter;

"_Well, this place is a bust." He turned and made to go back to the car. Margaret remained on the front door step staring at the window. Even though she couldn't see him, she was sure he was still watching them. She turned and stared at the door for a moment, gave the window one last glance before walking away herself._

_Just as she reached the end of the entryway there was a click and the door behind her creaked open._

X

"Come in." Soft as ash, a voice drifted out from the open doorway. Margaret felt a chill.

"Oh, well. If you insist young man!" and Mike was behind her, pushing them both inside. She shook her head, something didn't feel right.

"No, that's okay. I'll wait in the car." She tried to pull from him but he held firm.

"Margaret, let's not be rude to the new customer with XMR products! He has invited us inside." She jerked away and thrust the toilet seat in her place.

"I'll be in the car." She gave him a look before shuffling back the way she'd come. Her arms were shaking, her legs felt like lead but the moment she was in her seat all buckled in she felt a surge of relief. She watched as Mike waltzed inside, toilet seat in tow and as the door snapped quietly shut behind him.

Margaret sat, alone in the car, for an hour before she started to get worried. Music played softly so as to not aggravate the headache she could feel was on its way and to help pass the time. Silently she sat fidgeting as the clock ticked away the time. One hour became an hour and a half. That became two hours and so forth. She waited until the sun burned the sky a deep red, until her eyes drifted shut . . .

_Hey there to my future self_

_If you forget how to smile_

. . . then snapped open again to be fogged in darkness. She panicked flailing, fighting the thing holding her down, wrapped around her upper torso. Her hand clawed at metal and her legs kicked at the bottom of the coffin she was sure encased her body. She couldn't breathe couldn't see, boxed in, like the forgotten, like the dead.

_I have this to tell you_

_Remember it once in awhile_

Blearily her eyes focused in on the only thing that began to appear in the dark. Green numbers came into view, clock numbers that read 11: 45. Everything shifted and she could see again. She was still in the car, alone and the sun had long since set.

Sniffling and wiping away her tears Margaret pulled out her cell phone. She dialed Mike's number and held the phone to her ear. Nothing happened for a moment and it left her feeling frustrated. Then very clearly from the seat beside her came the apparent ringing of Moonlight Sonata. There, in the driver's seat was Mike's phone, flashing and vibrating, telling her Mike had left it behind, telling her he had not come back, telling her he was still inside.

"Fuck!" She threw her phone at his and they fell into the space between the door and the seat. She would have to go in as well.

_Ten years ago your past self_

_Prayed for your happiness_

Forcing herself to remain calm Margaret slowly unlocked her door and stepped outside. The cold air made breathing soundly that much harder and panic that much more difficult to contain. She gripped the cold, silver lacquered metal tightly before slamming it shut and making her way to the front door.

Her hand almost rang the doorbell before remembering that it didn't work. Instead she knocked gently. No one answered and as far as she could tell no one was in the front window.

"Hello?" She reached out to grab the knob, "Mike?" It turned, slowly, carefully, warily, as if she was afraid it was unlocked. If it was locked she could run to the police, she could get help, because there was nothing else she could do. Margaret nearly sobbed when the handle twisted all the way around, allowing her passage inside.

"hello?" None of the lights were on. The house was pitch-black. Her hand went up automatically to search for a switch. With a click the front room was lit up in a faded yellow light.

And she'd thought the outside looked dingy. Paint was peeling off the walls, the carpet was old and missing in several areas. But this was nothing to the small figure leaning against the door.

"Oh my God." The boy, the one from the window, he was bleeding, covered in scratch-marks and bruises. His wide brown eyes looked distant and beaten. Not even a moment later she was pulling him up, cradling him in her arms. The skin from his knuckles was gone leaving red splotches against the jacket of her suit.

"Who did this? Where's Mike? What happened? Can you walk?" Margaret was pulling him to the door.

_Please don't loose hope_

"What do I have to do?" She stopped unable to decipher what he meant.

"What was that?" Squee looked up, shaking his head slightly. Margaret felt like crying. "Who would do something like this to their kid." His expression changed to one of confusion before slipping back.

"He's down stairs. That man you were with, he's down stairs." One of his hands came up to grip the end of her blouse, ". . . can show you where he is." She swallowed thickly.

"Is he okay?" her voice just above a whisper. The kid smiled.

"Something like that."

"Are you alone, here I mean . . . the person who did this, are they still here?" He nodded. "Where are they?"

"I don't really remember . . . I mean . . ."

"Think, kid, where did you last see them?" She grabbed his shoulders. He didn't seem to understand what she was asking.

"Them?"

"Them, him, her, whoever did this to you." Squee looked down, not sure what she was implying. His shirt was torn and saturated with blood. His arms and possibly his neck was covered in cuts and yellowing bruises, his nails and knuckles a dingy brown, it was no wonder she looked so worried.

"Look at me," he said with a smile "I'm a mess. Look at my shirt and my jeans . . ." She was giving him that funny look again. He started to giggle. "Johnny's downstairs somewhere too."

"Who's Johnny?"

"Dad said I have a brother named Johnny, said it right before he died. Mom said it too." His face grew very serious. Long fingers released her shirt and instead reached up to tear at his hair. "They liked him best . . ."

"I haven't seen him yet, but I hear things. I can hear _him_, the way he _walks_ . . . when his shoes hit the floor . . . he talks to someone and I can hear them . . . He's looking for me. I know he is he-!" Margaret tugged him close, pulling his hands from his head, wrapping her arms around him. He kept on mumbling, as if she wasn't there, going on and on about his brother.

"Everything's all right now. We're just gonna find Mike then we're gone. We'll get you both to a hospital then go to the police." She kneeled in front of him, holding his hands in her own.

"What's your name?"

"It's . . ."

"_Todd? I like Squee better."_

" . . . Squee. My name's Squee." Unusual name, she couldn't help but to think as she gently rubbed the hands in her own.

"Well, Squee," She stood and rested her arm on his shoulder. "Let's go find my friend, and then we'll get you some help." He showed her to the door.

X

_You're getting good at this, my boy._

_He fucked you up like a cat on crack, didn't he?!_

"_What do I need to do?"_

X

The first set of stairs was the hardest to descend. It lead to a room easily seen from the top with the light on. Margaret was shaking, her hands sweaty in Squee's. She was surprised at his lack of fear in the room.

"What kind of people . . ." She pulled away from him to inspect the wall to their left. A long table ran along the wall, dripping with knives and chains and padlocks. One particular blade caught her eye. It was smaller than the others, with a small red tassel dangling from the golden handle.

"We have to hurry . . . don't have much time." Squee was already all the way across the room, disappearing through an open door. Margaret picked up the knife, for her own protection and followed him into the darkness of the first hallway.

"Squee?" She called out, unable to see anything in the abysmal void. She ran her hands along the wall, her hand fisted around the dagger. "Squee!" Her left arm reached out blindly and bumped into something soft. Instinctively Margaret raised the knife above her head.

"It's just me." Squee whispered. She gave a sigh of relief as he slipped the weapon out of her hand. Her arms came around him.

"Don't leave me in the dark like that." He shook his head against her neck. She allowed herself a brief moment to breathe properly before nodding and stepping back.

"Alright, where is he?" She asked, Squee's voice drifted in from out of nowhere while his hand slipped into her own.

"A little ways further down. I have to check out the hall ahead so don't go anywhere." Her clenching hand squeezed his, "I'll be _right_ back." His hand left hers again but, surprisingly, he pushed the knife back at her. She gripped it tightly before sinking to the wall.

"I'll be back." Squee sounded so far off. How had he gotten so distant so soon? Margaret hated the silence, hated that the kid left her alone, hated that she had no idea what she was doing or where she was going, but most of all, hated that she was relying on a kid half her age to get her through this.

"I should have gone to the police. I should have taken the kid and gone to the police. Fuck Mike and that stupid job, I'm locked in a house with a messed up kid and his homicidal brother in the dark alone and I'm going to die, I'm going to die . . ." She kept on mumbling to herself, happy to break the silence.

X

"_Do I really need her too?"_

_It takes a lot of blood to cover the wall._

_She's nice and healthy, child, maybe you-!_

"_That's disgusting."_

_For a boy of your age your reaction is rather violent. _

_I think he'll get over it, eventually._

_She's a pretty little thing isn't she?_

"_Let's just get this over with."_

_Yes_

X

Margaret thought she might have fallen asleep waiting for the kid to come back. When she pressed her head to her knees she could almost swear she heard laughing. The dark was so consuming she thought it was invading her dreams as well. All she could see, think, and feel was this onslaught of fear.

She would have sobbed for her own stupidity if she hadn't heard a thump from the door she was sitting next to. Margaret's stomach lurched. Squee had definitely not gone through that door so there was no way he'd come out of it. When the sound of the knob wiggling jerked through the quiet, Margaret stumbled blindly towards the other end of the hall.

Maybe it was just her imagination but she could almost swear she heard metal clicking. It swam in and out of her head, so maybe she really was dreaming. Maybe she was just imagining Squee's depraved brother coming through that door. The knob had stopped moving, all was quiet, no sounds outside of running feet. Only, Margaret was half sitting half lying on the ground.

Reacting purely by the will to survive this demented house she gave a startled cry, raising her arms and swinging wildly. The knife swished through the air and Squee let out a grunt as he hit the floor. Hearing his voice Margaret snapped out of the darkness and into understanding what she might have done.

"Squee!" She crawled over to him, "Did I get you? I'm so sorry, I got so scared!" He was still breathing, that at least was a good sign, he was moving as well. He reached out, felt along her arm and took away the knife once more.

"No, I'm fine." He was so thin, she realized. She could feel his ribs through the stiff T-shirt he wore, "I can take you to him now." He stood, pulling her up with him.

"How can you get around this place with no light? How can you see in all of this?" Squee didn't stop moving, only tugged her along behind him. His grip on her arm was cold and frightening. If Margaret hadn't seen him upstairs she'd have probably freaked out at this touch.

"I can't."

"Then how do you know where we're going?" He paused at this for a moment.

"This is how it's always been. You get used to it after awhile. You'll be able to see soon, don't worry." She didn't like the way he sounded. For a moment she thought maybe she'd been had. Suddenly Squee stopped entirely, there was a click and her eyes were blinded this time by the dim glow of a dirty bulb right above her. She winced.

They'd stopped right in front of a door. It looked thick and heavy, was covered in strange scratch marks, and gave Margaret the chills.

"He's here?" Squee nodded. Somehow in this light he looked a little less defeated than before. His eyes seemed hard, and cold. They were nothing like what she'd seen upstairs. Maybe wandering alone down here had made him this way. Maybe being down here kept him like this.

"_I'm never alone here."_ Had he said that to her? She couldn't remember

"_Are you alone here . . . I mean . . ."_

"_I'm never alone here."_

Squee was reaching for the handle, skinny fingers curled around the greenish brass and turned. She watched as the door hesitated against his insistent tug. Her lungs tightened before she heard the hinges squeak and watched as the kid pulled the door open.

"_I don't want to go downstairs again."_

The room was like a basement, the walls, the ceiling, the floor even, all of it bare. It was solid concrete and before she could really look into the room Margaret felt a burst of cold, stale air. She nearly screamed when she saw her coworker. Across from her, in the far corner of the room, was Mike. His arms were lashed above his head, body completely naked, and wires connecting from bruised and purple skin up to a strange box with tabs. She didn't read what they said only ran to him.

"Mike!" He didn't look nearly so handsome anymore. She ran her fingers along a scratched and bumpy cheek. Margaret's eyes grew teary.

She reached up to untie him but the leather was too thick and stiff, she then reached down to pull off the wires, thinking them only attached by tape. They wouldn't come up, Mike groaned. His skin started lifting with her tugging, he was bleeding and she found that the wires were attached by tiny hooks embedded deep in the skin. Margaret snatched her hands away.

She watched with an odd sort of detachment as Mike's eyes opened, spurred by the pain. They opened, saw her; showed relief, saw beyond her; and exhibited a horrible anger. He started to scream. Margaret's ears went fuzzy.

"You LITTLE FU-!" She stared at him, spit flying from his red mouth, hatred in his eyes, and couldn't believe it.

"WHEN I GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS I'M GONNA-!"

"HOW DARE YOU TOUCH ME YOU PIECE OF SHI-!"

"I'M GONNA RING YOUR SKINNY NECK WHEN I GET FREE! YOU'D BETTER RUN YOU FUCKING ASSWHOLE BRAT!"

"LET ME GO YOU STUPID SHITTY ASSWIPE! SKINNY LITTLE FAGGOT!" And it clicked in her brain. She turned to see Squee with his hand on the doorknob, watching them, entirely unaffected by what Mike was saying.

Then, with Mike still blaring and Margaret reaching and running for the door, Squee slammed it shut. Slammed it against his words and her beating fists; she heard the snap of a lock and the click, click, click of metal as he slowly walked away.

Margaret felt like tearing out her hair but realized she didn't have the strength to. She pounded on the door until she bled, slowly sagged to the floor, gripped her knees tight and screamed; her voice echoing endlessly off the walls.

"SOMEBODY HELP US!"

X

He barely caught the tail end of what she said as he climbed the steps to his living room. As he'd done downstairs, Squee flicked off the light, unable to stand seeing anything.

_You've done well._

Slowly he walked across the room to the old and dusty couch in the center. Without thinking, he sank tiredly into the cushions. He'd lost so much weight recently that it hardly made a difference.

Squee sat for hours just staring at the blank television. As the sun crawled along his lap and arm he looked up past the wall and noticed the carvings from yesterday. The knife he'd used was still embedded in the wood. He heard the slam of a car door.

bbbzzzzzz-kkkkkAAAAACKKKKKKKKK!

And he couldn't help himself, Squee smiled.

X

Review for the next chapter.

Sorry this took so long. I've had to meet another deadline on an original story. Please tell me what you thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"I'm not touching them."

_Those cars cannot stay parked out there forever, Johnny. Someone is bound to notice._

"I don't give a damn. I'm not touching them." He pulled on a random jacket, not caring whose it was. The people that had left them in his living room wouldn't need them back. "And stop calling me that."

_Why? Does it bother you?_

"Yes it does, I'm not Johnny."

_Should we call you Todd then?_

_How many more has he caught since the first two?_

_Three I believe._

_And the cars are still outside?_

_Yes . . . an obvious sign of incompetence and lack of conviction._

_Do you want to get caught, child?_

"I _want_ for the both of you to shut the hell up and move the fucking cars yourself."

_He seems to be in a bad mood._

_The boy has yet to tend to the others below . . ._

_Really, now!_

_This could actually prove to be problematic. Our master is growing impatient with us._

The door slammed and the doughboys turned to see through the broken window Squee weaving between the parked cars to cross the street. It was around ten o'clock so it didn't take long for the frail young man to disappear all together.

_Yes, very problematic._

X

_You seem lonely._

Squee glanced around but made sure to keep moving. Even if it were only for a little while he would get away from that house, away from both of those houses. Not paying any attention to the street names or landmarks he wandered around the suburban maze like a mouse looking for a way out. Glancing up Squee could see the vague outline of the nearby city and wished he could be there.

He started walking towards it but every street he wandered down ended in a cul-de-sac. Why couldn't he leave?

"I'm not."

_Turn left here._

And for a moment Squee panicked, afraid another voice had manifested itself in his brain. He calmed when he realized he'd been reading a sign aloud. It looked like a bus stop sign. There was a glass room a little ways up and inside was a long bench for waiting.

Squee thought about it for a moment, just standing in front of a bus stop. He didn't have any money for a ride, didn't have anywhere to go, didn't really in fact have a reason to be there other than his own desire to be.

_That should be reason enough._

He pulled the dirty, brown jacket closer when a breeze pushed at him from behind. The quiet of the street was almost painful. It only took a few steps to be actually sitting on the cold metal of the bench. He wondered, as he idly stroked the worn knee of his pants, where he'd put his red jacket.

A bus pulled up after awhile, the doors opened and the light blinded him for a moment, he looked away before he could see the driver's face. Someone stepped off and the bus waited only a moment before the doors closed again. The person just outside of the glass waved before walking off. Squee looked up as they drove away, not seeing anyone else in the windows.

X

_You look lonely._

"I'm not."

_I didn't say you were._

"Yes you did . . ."

_Really? I thought I said 'look' not 'were'. _

"Same difference."

_You're so sure of that, aren't you?_

"I'm not lonely"

_You're so sure of that, aren't you?_

"I'm not."

Squee stared at his reflection in the glass. He wasn't lonely, was he? Had he ever had any real friends? Did people ever really like him? He didn't believe so, most of what had happened to him as a child was blurry. He'd had at least two, or so he thought. One of them . . . Squee thought that one of them might have been named Andy.

He wondered what had happened to that guy.

There was another, he was sure . . . at least one more. This one was later than Andy, this one had moved away. He couldn't remember the boy's name, only remembered being a little frightened of him.

_This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted for your parents to die, right?_

Where did that come from?

_You wanted for them to suffer. You____enjoyed killing them, didn't you?_

"No . . ."

_Then why do it? Seems rather pointless to me, whatever intention you had for them, in the end all they felt was fear and pain._

"I . . ."

_All those people in your basement_

"She . . ."

_That's all they'll feel, that's all they'll know; fear, pain, suffering, it's all you'll bring anybody if you don't do something soon._

"Who-?"

_You're losing yourself; this parasite is eating at your mind and sanity. You have to get away from them, from that wall. Your whole existence depends on it._

"Who are you?"

_Don't go back tonight. Just sleep here, no one will touch you, no one will even see you._

"Where . . . where did you come from?"

_I'm all that's left._

"Of what?"

_Of you._

X

As he slept, Squee dreamed of swaying houses and terrible stenches. Chains swished in front of his eyes and he was sure that his home would tip over. He weaved around fallen furniture and used the railing to steady himself as the traveled upstairs.

The smell got stronger and stronger. He knew where he was going, into that room, to the place where he set up his first domino. The air was almost yellow with the smell; it burned his eyelids and made him want to retch. Slowly he reached out to grab the door handle, his whole arm shaking.

Before his fingers could touch it the door burst open. His mother stood in the doorway, nightgown yellow and red, hair matted and dingy. Where her face should have been was a black hole, as if everything had been scraped out. She swayed from side to side with the house.

"I think I'm gonna be sick." Squee stumbled back as she fell forward. She crashed to the floor, almost immediately going still.

"Mom?"

A noise woke him. The sky was a dull grey in the morning light; Squee uncurled himself from the far corner. The hole of his mother's face leaking a sopping, stinking liquid burned behind his eyelids. Beside him a portly, older woman sat with her arms clinging tightly to her purse. She kept glancing over at him nervously. Squee blinked away the pungent after-feel of sleep, his knees creaking as he stood to leave the small cubicle. The woman sniffed and shuffled away from him. As he passed her his foot caught something and he stumbled. The lady squawked indignantly, her purse moved from her lap to her side, away from prying fingers.

Squee felt something bubble up inside of him. It brushed his conscious self, willing for him to follow a stream of thought he knew would lead back to that house, back to the doughboys.

_Stand up._

And he did, nodding an apology to the old woman as he did so. She only stared at him as he moved away.

_Which way will you go?_

"Into town, just for today. Then I'll go back."

_Why? Why go back at all?_

"Those people are still downstairs."

_Today then_.

Then, as if suddenly where he really was Squee made a right and started walking towards town.

X

It was an amazing feeling, remembering where everything was and where he was going. Like getting out of a high after being an addict for so long. No one looked at him, paid him any mind. They all just went on with their business, with their lives as if his body had been found in that house along with his parents. He didn't exist, just another face made blank by the grip of society. He was one of them, just another face.

And he loved it. No one saw him unless he needed for them to. And even then it was disinterested attention. Just another lost teenager, just another customer, just another body.

Meaningless, just like everyone else.

_I knew this would do you some good._

Squee couldn't help but to agree, he was out, the sun wasn't too bright and the clouds didn't feel like a horrible omen. Everything felt perfect, soft, and gentle.

He wandered by a variety of shops before something interesting caught his eye.

_You always wanted one._

"Yes."

_They won't notice you._

"They won't?"

_No, they won't._

X

It was dark again before he returned to the house. Nothing in moved as he walked inside, nothing breathed as he set down what he'd been carefully cradling in his arms. From where they leaned against a far wall, the doughboys could be seen with their usual twisted grins. Squee moved freely about the house now, quickly wandering into the kitchen for some water, his hands easily tearing plastic and deftly filling to the top. When he returned to the living room the only sounds he heard were coming from the cage he'd brought with him. Inside was a small rabbit, peering curiously at him from between the bars.

Squee's smile was a happy one as he opened the top of the cage and hooked up the water dispenser. The rabbit moved towards the silver nozzle and started drinking. The lid was snapped shut and he could only stare in awe at this tiny creature, this frail, beautiful thing went about it's business as if it hadn't just been stolen from a pet store. Its world was limited to the walls around it, no cares, no worries. Squee was supposed to take care of it and the rabbit had nothing but the utmost faith that his new owner would deliver.

Squee leaned against the table, his eyes fixed on the soft white fur and shiny black eyes, and his ears hearing nothing outside of the rustle of bedding in the cage.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Because you all knew this was coming. . .

Jynx

AN: When Squee is speaking to one of the voices, from now on, the voice will be in italics. Usually it will be stated somewhere who it is he is talking to, though I hope I've got them down to the point in which you won't need for it to be. If you can't really tell which one it is it's probably not important until later. Just keep reading.

Yeah, sorry. I mixed up D-boy and Mr. Fuck. Bad thing to do. Things should be clearer now that the formatting has been corrected

When he is speaking to two or more at one time the voices will be as such;

D-boy-**Blah blah**

Mr. Fuck-**_Blah blah_**

Bunny-_Blah blah_

The first few times I do this I'll try to remember to post that before hand so you don't have to scroll all the way up to figure out what's going on.

Day One

_You can't keep avoiding it._

"Don't challenge me on avoidance."

_It would be so much easier if you just took care of the mess._

"Yes."

_You don't have to do it yourself, just call someone._

"Who?"

_There is a towing company in the phone book over there. Just look them up, just call them over. You are a concerned neighbor, just a concerned neighbor._

"I have a phone book?"

_Yes, my boy, under the table over there. Now just pull the phone over, that's it. Call the towing company, call them and then stay in the basement. They won't ask questions, they won't ask questions._

"They won't?"

_No, Johnny, they won't._

"Don't call me that."

_Call you what?_

"Never mind."

X

_Click_

"Hey, Harvey, come here a second will you."

"Yeah, what?"

"Call out the trucks, we've got a few stops to make."

"This late? How many?"

"Just two, one'll head back for the third car so we don't have to wake anybody up."

"Three cars?"

"Yeah, let's hurry. I wanna get home before my wife goes ballistic again."

X

Squee waited by the window for the tow trucks to come. Glass, broken in a fit of rage not too long ago, lay scattered around his feet glinting in the low light. He stood with his back to the open door leading down into the basements and cellars. When the trucks could be seen a short way down the street Squee stepped back, locked the front door, grabbed his rabbit's cage and disappeared downstairs. Another lock clicked behind him, echoing louder than necessary in the dimness of the dead house.

The further down he went the louder the noises became. Maybe it was Margaret or maybe it was Mike, maybe that was the scream of another victim, another prisoner. Maybe it was just noise from something within himself, something deathly afraid of silence.

It was an unearthly sound, like the hungry wails of the monsters that used to hide under his bed, the demons of his dreams as a child. He kept walking in the dark, hugging the cage close to him as he descended further and further down. Cold, the deeper he went the colder it got. He wondered if there was light enough would he see his rabbit shivering as he could hear him, would he see his own breath like white smoke around him? Squee realized after a few daunting steps down a particularly quiet hallway that he didn't want to see anything, the walls, the doors, if he saw he might feel bad for locking people up down here.

"Why won't they ask questions?"

_Because, as much as I hate to have to argue in favor of those other two, people are invariably predictable. Telling the police would be the right thing to do but thanks to the improved system they'll probably forget all about the cars by morning._

"But why? Why will they forget?" There was some rustling from the cage in his arms before he got a response.

_You'll drive yourself insane thinking about it. Just keep walking, there's something you need to see, something that changed recently. Don't worry about it for now; it's working in your favor._

He nodded even though the action seemed rather silly in the dark. No one could see him, though he wondered if his bunny could, but he felt no reason to voice his thoughts. He kept walking and walking until the voice floated around him again, gently commanding for him to stop.

_Here, this is where the change is. There was nothing in this room before._

Squee reached out, blindly feeling for the doorknob. It twisted with a creak and Squee opened the door with minimal effort. A childish fear kept him from actually stepping into the room. He wondered, as he stood in the doorway so black with shadows that nothing inside could be seen, if maybe it wasn't a room at all. Nothing moved, changed, there could be a brick wall in front of him and he wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

_There's a light switch to your right . . ._

When his hand felt along the doorframe he waited for the brush of rough brick but only felt the slide of worn plaster before he was blinded with a _click_.

His eyes focused and he wondered what was so special about this room. It wasn't very big, or . . .

The rumbling started up again, somewhere down the hall the man Mike screeched and Margaret started banging on the door. Other people started up as well, yelling, screaming, crying for help. He wasn't as far into the basements as he'd thought he was. He wasn't really far down at all.

_That's it. It changed somehow. This room was empty before._

"It's still empty." Squee walked into the room, his eyes scanning the walls for whatever it was he was talking about. The room was about the size of most of the rooms with equipment except there was nothing to speak of inside. His boots echoed almost too loudly against the walls as he inspected the entirety of the quiet space for anything particularly strange.

"I don't see anything, Bunny."

_There!_

Squee looked at the wall across from the door. The house creaked and another rumble, like the distant wail of thunder rang through the floorboards.

"I still don't see anything."

_That's where they came from. _

"Who?"

_The doughboys._

His footsteps, as he moved towards the wall, thudded heavily in the quiet of the room. He inspected it closely, expecting to find a secret door or hidden window breached in the wood. If there was one it was disguised well.

"I don't understand . . ."

_When you first came here, when you were running down the hall, you passed by this room and the door was open._

"I did?"

_Yes, they walked out of this room, the doughboys. This is where they came from._

More buzzing, always buzzing, in the back of his skull but in this room it became more pronounced, increasingly annoying . . .

"I don't remember."

_What?_

"I can't remember."

_What can't you remember?_

"This room, what you're talking about. I can't remember."

_You must try._

"But I can't."

_You have to hold on. To yourself, to your memories, they are all you have at this point._

"Hm." Squee set the cage down, when he stood he noticed that the wood of the wall was slightly different from the others, it was discolored and rougher, as though it had suffered water damage recently. Slowly he ran a finger along ridges and lines until something shifted. He heard something move, on the other side . . . was there a room over there? Was _he_ over there?

"What is that?"

_That what, Johnny?_

"That noise . . ." He scooted closer, leaning in and pressing his ear to the wall. Something was there, pressing back against the wood, pressing so hard the floor groaned and the walls creaked. Everything grew quiet and Squee's pulse sped up. Just like in those horror movies, something would pop out, something would chase him. A zombie maybe, the bones of a disturbed Indian burial ground, the remains of his mother perhaps? He couldn't be sure.

The floor moaned and grumbled, this time a little longer than the last but this time the noises sounded right next to his ear, as if whatever was on the other side knew his face, his flesh, his blood was there, _right _there. Squee's eyes widened and slowly he backed away. It was big, whatever it was, to make the whole house move by pushing against a wall.

_Something's in there._

"Upstairs."

_Upstairs?_

"I think . . ." he paused, a flutter in his heart breaking the train of thought for a moment, "I think we need to get upstairs."

His foot brushed the corner of the cage and he glanced down. Bunny was curiously peering through the bars, nose twitching as it tried to identify what ever _it_ was. One more glance up-did the wall move or were Squee's eyes playing tricks on him? Slowly he reached down, grabbed Bunny's cage, and walked out fully intending to never enter the room again.

The house grumbled.

X

"You don't think that all these abandoned cars, parked in front of an abandoned house, is suspicious?" Harvey inspected the cracked concrete and dirt ridden lawn. He pulled a flashlight out of the back of the truck and directed its beam at the house. The windows were broken, everything was dark and quiet, nothing moved.

"Probably some kids stealing cars, they just got dumped here or something. You're too paranoid, Harvey. Point that flashlight over here so I can see what I'm doing." Jacob was swearing and fumbling in the dark. "Damn kids these days. Always taking what's not theirs to have."

"By the way Jake, how's your daughter doing?"

"Oh, the usual. Failing at life, making the rest of the family miserable, ya know, teenage kinda stuff."

"She still into drugs?" Jake grunted, locking everything into place.

"That oughta do it for these two, you going to come back with me to get this last one?"

"I thought you said there were only three cars." Harvey pointed the flashlight at a discarded, rusty, generally ugly junkie in the driveway. "What'll we do about that one?" Jake sighed.

"Don't worry about it. Just drive the damn truck and we'll get that hunk of metal in the morning. I ain't wasting gas by pulling out both haulers again. Let Chris take care of it or somethin'."

Harvey turned the flashlight to the house again, thinking maybe if he watched long enough he'd see the ghosts of the car-owners floating around.

"Let's go!" A disgruntled Jacob called from the first truck.

X

He slowed down the closer he got to the surface, until he was barely shuffling towards that last set of stairs. Dreading every step closer to that door, Squee stood for maybe a whole five minutes just staring at the brass knob. The doughboys were in there, the broken glass, his anger and unease.

--

D-boy-**Blah blah**

Mr. Fuck-**_Blah blah_**

Bunny-_Blah blah_

-

"I don't want to stay here! I don't want to kill those people! Just shut up, just stop talking! Stop making sense, just please!" Squee dragged his nails across his scalp leaving burning, stinging trails on his skin. The air was thick with something and it was ripping into him, tearing at his eyelids. "You're not supposed to make sense, what you're saying-NO! I won't do it. I'm in control, I'm-!"

_**Be quiet you silly boy! Of course **__**you**__** are in control, everything up to this point has been nothing but your own doing. You chose to kill your parents, you chose to come to this place. Do not make the idiotic assumption that you were forced to be here! **_

**In choosing this place you chose your fate. So what's the point? You are living in the shit you dug up yourself, end this, end everything, let your sorrows drain from you with your blood and be free. Do this, Johnny. For all the-!**

_**Silence, D-Boy!**_

**Where the hell do you get off telling me what to do?!**

"Wha-?"

_**Do not listen to him, Johnny. There is too much work to be done. There are our guests downstairs, we need them-**_

**He lies to you! He wants you to kill again, to drain their blood instead of your own. We don't need them, we need you. Do this, end this. You'll be able to see the stars again. Look at them, Johnny. Look at how beautiful they are. That is the end, death in all of its grotesque glory. Imagine seeing them up close. Imagine becoming one with the sky, with the star-**

"I hate this."

_What?_

"I hate feeling this inconsistent. Like everything's just gonna fall apart at any given moment."

_Of course you do, anyone would. The only thing that can be accomplished in this lifetime by any one human being is to find what makes them happy and follow it, no matter where it takes them. Are you happy here?_

"No."

_Then why stay?_

"I can't leave, bunny. I don't know why but I can't."

_**You're being childish about this, Johnny. Do what you came here to do. Kill them, finish what you've started. Their agony was amusing at first but this has been dragged on for too long. You put so much effort into bringing them here and yet you're too weak to even get rid of those fucking cars out front-!**_

Glass shattering, flying in all directions. Something had finally snapped, been dragged down, something hauntingly familiar and yet foreign, as if witnessed from afar. A chair went flying-crashing into a wall, its legs slammed into the other window. Terrible screaming and noise-it broke the tension. The voices were silent, and after a moment, so was Squee.

He stood, heaving and gasping in the center of the room looking wild and crazed. Too thin, too malnourished, he fell to his knees and hunched over. The thin fabric of his shirt stretched over his back clearly displaying his ribs and spine. He was still breathless, still angry even though he didn't fully understand why. Recently things had become fuzzy, white lined, and wrong. He'd been remembering less and less lately. He couldn't even remember eating. Mr. Fuck spoke up after a moment, slowly and cautiously;

_**You can't keep avoiding it.**_

"Don't challenge me on avoidance." Low and laced in dangerous suggestions.

_**It would be so much easier if you just took care of the mess.**_

"Yes."

X

That's it for now. Let me know if I've made a mistake on something or just leave a general comment on what you thought of this. It's a little longer than I expected but it needed to be.

Reviewing lets me know that you guys are interested in this story being finished. Now that I'm out of high school, this (as in the whole _completed_ trilogy) may or may not be my last fanfiction. I want to write professionally and this is really good practice but takes up a great load of time. I love writing, here and elsewhere so maybe, if I can get a laptop so as to not get kicked off the computer all the time, I'll keep the stories coming.

Thank you guys so much. Please review.


	7. Chapter 7

"Wake up sleepy head . . . it's time."

-Ginger

Ginger Snaps II unleashed-

Chapter Seven

By the time he'd gotten to the top of the stairs the shaking had subsided to a minor trembling. It still made him nervous but he was glad that the house had calmed somewhat.

Propped up beneath the window across the room were the doughboys, their twisted grins evident even in the dark. Glass glittered, strewn prettily across the floor while a low, moaning breeze drifted in through the broken windows.

Hinges squeaked as Squee opened the door awkwardly with his left arm, his right carefully cradling Bunny's cage.

_**Glad you could rejoin us, Johnny.**_

"Are they gone now?"

**I believe they are, they took the last car only moments ago.**

_**They will grow suspicious if they have to keep returning for abandoned vehicles . . .**_

**Then we both know what the boy must do! You don't want to go to prison, so let me propose an easy solution to your dilemma . . . why deal with the trouble of other people at all?**

_**You like having other people here, don't wait for them to come to us, you were the one who said you needed more fresh air! Go find others to kill! Remember those kids? Remember the lies they told, the hardships they forced upon you? Your parents were a good start but you need to -!**_

_Nny . . ._

"Why do you all-? Never mind, I don't feel like going out right now."

The doughboys remained motionless, but not silent. He turned away from them, looking at the floor first, and then the other window. He was tired again, but a childish fear made him shake his head against the pull of sleep. The doughboys continued to scream at him.

. . . _**still down **__. . . _**too long**_ . . .__** don't run **__. . ._

_. . . are you okay?_

"Kind of a dumb question don't you think?"

_Well, are you as okay as you can be at this point?_

The doughboys were still yelling, vying for his attention. Squee spared them only a brief glance before turning and walking right by his friend's cage. His voice only barely drifted up and out of the cold cellar.

"Bunny, at this point I don't think 'okay' is an option for me."

Day Two

Changes

How many times had he woken in a daze? He'd been wandering around the house in a manner akin to drunkenness. Three, maybe five times now, but that couldn't be accurate. If his current whereabouts pointed to anything . . . he couldn't remember walking anywhere near this side of the house.

Not too much of a surprise really, that he'd ended up falling asleep in one of those rooms. He didn't usually spend time in them anymore, nor did he pay much attention to the machines he was sure he used to study with a morbid fascination. The possibilities they proposed were really very limited. People were meant to die in these rooms, not sleep in them.

Drills, saws, needles . . . lots and lots of metal smiled down at him. Leather straps, for holding a person down, for keeping them still through the pain, pressed achingly into his back. Slowly he sat up, careful of the hungry and torturous contraptions around his head.

A dull ache throbbed in his stomach and ears. He pinched his nose feeling empty and wrong, insides were churning- maybe from hunger but he couldn't be sure.

"Haven't eaten since . . . can't remember."

_You're going to make yourself sick like this. There's no food in the house, go out and eat something before you pass out._

"Bunny . . ."

_And don't say you'll be fine. You could die of starvation, so get a move on._

The tone in Bunny's voice irritated him a little but he knew better than to argue. A wave of nausea struck him suddenly and he doubled over, pressing his forehead to his knees and gripping his stomach. He could feel his own ribs against his arms and was sickened by the way it felt. Bunny was right, he needed food now.

Dark eyes flickered towards the switch on the wall.

_Come on, Nny_

The gut wrenching hunger dropped to a dull throb and he shook his head to clear it. The switch was too far away anyways.

If he didn't really think about it he could make his way upstairs without incident. The closer he drew to the stairs, however, the louder the doughboys got.

They didn't even pause as he walked into the room.

_**They are stinking up the lower levels! That Mike-guy is already starting to fry internally. This is getting ridiculous. Half of them are starving to death anyways!**_

**It is beginning to smell, hm. I wonder when the neighbors will begin to notice.**

_**It's too early for the boy to begin making stupid mistakes! He is not to the point where he can do as he pleases yet! He will get caught at this rate!**_

**We do not require anyone but him. Nny's blood is all we need. Other people create complications that leave a bitter aftertaste on the wall. Johnny's blood will last long enough for the system to think he's doing his job and to give us time to prepare.**

_**There is no US in this you demented fucktard! Our whole purpose is to keep our master behind the wall until the most opportune moment. Yes, Nny's blood will last longer than others but not nearly long enough. We can deal with the aftertaste of the dead but not with a premature release of The End**_

**The others-!**

He started rooting around the abandoned personal property of the people downstairs. Jackets and purses were upended until he found the money he needed for some food. The sound of a cell phone hitting the floor hushed the doughboys for a brief moment before they started up again, this time clearly trying to keep the argument between the two of them.

"What the fuck are you two talking about?" The doughboys' voices paused. Mr. Fuck was the first to respond, his voice a vicious sneer.

_**Well, **__**there is the matter of the people who have managed to survive, downstairs. What will you do with them if you don't kill them off after all?**_

D-boy came right in after, his voice filled with contempt.

**Leave them to rot. No one has come looking thus far, though we are not sure of how long that will last. You are not yet entirely unattainable. At this point of someone really wanted to-**

_**Thankfully this is not an issue. No one knows who you are, how can they find someone who; according to their records, died six months ago?**_

"Six . . . months . .?"

**Someone like you wouldn't do well in prison, you're too impulsive and are at a very influential stage in your life. People will do all they can to make you into something and someone you're not. End the vicious cycle, Nny! Take command of your life. You decide to live or die! You will decide once and for all, DO IT NOW!**

They sounded as if they were at the end of their rope. D-boy grew shrill while Mr. Fuck became heady with excitement.

_**Suicide is for the weak, Johnny. Do not give into the desires of the beaten, instead let's have a little fun with our guests, huh? Show them a little sliver of the hell you had to endure. Let them taste fear at the hands of bloody retribution and we'll paint the walls red with their screams!**_

He decided not to comment on the milk curdling laugh that erupted from the Styrofoam pig's mouth. For the first time in as long as he could remember Johnny silently questioned if the walls were as bloody two seconds ago as they were at that moment. D-boy made some snide comment about getting tacos and chasing rabbits when his vision started to grow fuzzy. He wondered if the doughboys might be walking towards him, like that one time awhile back . . . like bunny said . . . in that room.

Another thought struck Nny and he realized that it was a very long time, six months, to lose yourself in.

_Nny? Do you know what day it is?_

"No." Too bad he couldn't remember any of it.

_Happy Birthday, Nny._

X

End Chapter Seven

X

Next up is the final chapter, in which we see-

The end of Day Two

&

Day Three!

After that begins the final installment of this more than a year old Trilogy-Fanfiction; Spiderfly!

Damn, I'm a slow writer! Forgive me and comment on the hideousness of this short chapter by pressing the little lavender/blue/purple/ whatever button down below! Thanks for sticking with me during the slowness of my stories.


	8. Chapter 8

"Every move on the fucking dot."

-_Ginger_

Ginger Snaps-

Chapter Eight

Because I know who I was . . .

He'd stopped moving forever ago. No more electrical currents, no more shocks filling the room with the stench of his burning flesh. Margaret stared at him from where she was currently splayed out on the floor, her body felt like lead, her hands ached from where blisters had popped; leaving stretches of raw, fleshy tissue exposed. Maybe pounding against the door for hours and screaming her lungs out for help had been a bad idea, no matter how logical it had seemed to be at the time.

"_Help us!"_

"_Somebody get us out of here!" Frustrated tears streaking her dirty face. Hair and skin oily from sweat despite the cold. Mike gurgling in the corner, reeking of burnt flesh and . . ._

Every now and then she could hear the footfalls of someone wandering the hallways. Every now and then she'd listen to the clacks of metal and the scuff of sneakers. Sometimes she could swear voices followed them into the abyss of this hellish home.

Usually, the frighteningly loud clicks would fade away, leaving her and Mike alone in the suffocating silence of their prison. Those footsteps would disappear and take with them that horrible sense of dread; the stench of fear so choking it fogged even the roasting smell of her friend in the corner.

Metal once again scraped against the floor of the hall that led to their room.

_Click click Click click . . ._

She was so tired, her arms and legs like lead. She could barely move, and her vision swam in an ocean of dark and anger that seemed to ooze from the walls and sift as dust from the ceilings. How could a place like this exist? How could people like Squee and Johnny exist?

If she could hear his boots, did that mean that Johnny, and not Squee, was coming for them. Mike gurgled a short ways from her and her belly ached at the smell of him.

Margaret couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't scream as the door moaned open and painfully strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her up off the floor.

X

_**Think of it as an odd job.**_

**Ewwww, did she pee on herself.**

_How are you feeling now?_

"Fine."

_**She smells like a sewer.**_

**Well, the sewage system is where human waste goes.**

_**Don't mock me you fucktard!**_

_Maybe you should wait until later to do this, Nny._

_**Shut up you flea infested bag of vermin waste!**_

"Bunny doesn't have fleas."

**If he did though, who do you think would have given them to him?**

_**Heh, only one person I can think of.**_

_You still haven't eaten, Johnny._

"I'll eat later. I just want to get this done . . . just want to get this over with."

_You don't . . ._

**You don't what? Have to kill her?! **

_**Ignorant little shit! What do you know of what has to be done?**_

_I know that neither of you has good intentions towards Johnny or each other for that matter!_

_**You know nothing of what we are or what we must do, maybe we hate each other but for now our desires are the same!**_

**Our master needs to stay behind that wall, Johnny. Can you feel that rumbling? Can you feel the hunger? YOU DO! Do not wait any longer, Johnny. Remedy this shit-hole you've placed us all in!**

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing?"

_**We are running out of time.**_

X

Time seemed to just slip away from her. She looked up from the awkward swaying motions of her captor's arms but didn't see a face she recognized entirely. She was sure at first that Squee had come back for her and her heart jumped a little. But he was too gaunt, too harsh to be the pale boy she saw sitting in the window that day she and Mike had arrived on the doorstep. He seemed thinner and something else, something she couldn't place.

"Squee?" The arms holding her, she realized, were too thin. How could he hold her up at all? At her raspy whisper the swaying stopped and dark brown eyes looked down at her. Confusion, she decided. He seemed to not understand what she had said, or at least that was what she thought was the expression so very out of place on his face.

"Squee?" and his head tipped forward in thought, and his arms didn't quiver once while he stood there in the semi dark. Margaret held still, believing somewhere at the back of her mind that if she moved too much the arms holding her entire weight would break. "Where-?"

"Soon." And she was swaying again. Back and forth . . .

X

_**Squee?**_

**What the fuck is a Squee?**

_Nny?_

"I can't think right now."

_**Take her to that one room, Johnny!**_

"Which one?"

_**The one you fell asleep in earlier.**_

X

The house seemed to fall into place around him. Long endless hallways and hundreds of monotonous doors conformed into a maze that shifted to the subconscious desires of their master. He carried himself in any direction that felt appropriate and sooner than he realized, he was at the door again.

The doughboys were there already; like the audience to some grand dinner show; leaning up against the wall opposite the machine with avid grins on their faces. Bunny's cage perched between them as though brought unwillingly; the rabbit buried in a quivering pile of bedding.

Johnny walked in not feeling the weight of the woman in his arms or heart. Where there should have been something was nothing.

_**Let us begin.**_ Johnny blamed his eyesight malfunctions on his hunger. Mr. Fuck's smile seemed to widen a bit, just a tiny amount. He did a double take, sure it was just his nerves before heaving Margaret on to the leather bench of the machine.

"I'm not sure how this works." he said to the air, Margaret thought maybe he was talking to her.

"Sq-!"

"I've got her on it wrong?" He looked towards the wall and she followed his eyes. There, across the room were some things she could barely make out in the dark. They didn't move or make a sound but she thought whatever they were, he was talking to them. She screamed when his hands grabbed her left arm and flipped her onto her stomach. Her legs straddled the bench and she felt like crying.

"Please don't rape me!" hysterical and afraid, Margaret dug her nails into the leather beneath her. She could feel straps being pulled over her back and legs, and that his fingers never strayed longer than necessary when buckling her in. She couldn't stop crying. Tears trickled down her face, snot was dripping out of her nose and her hair was ragged with oil. "No!" but he didn't seem to hear her.

"This next part might seem weird but Mr. F says I need to get it on tight." no nononononono! She screamed in her mind? What was he putting on? What was he doing? She could see him from the corner of her eye dropping to his knees on the other side of the bench, where her legs were. They tingled with anticipation, she was waiting for something to happen. She heaved another series of chest jerking sobs when he finally stood and walked around the bench to face her.

He knelt down to look at the woman's face, she started pleading again.

"Don't touch me! I think I'm gonna hurljustpleaseletmegoIdontwannaget_raped_Ijustwanttogohome!" He couldn't understand half of what she said but one word stood out to him.

_Raped?_

_**Hah! The little bitch thinks you want to rape her, Johnny!**_

**Well, that is a very suggestive position you've got her in.**

She flinched when the barest tips of his fingers grazed her cheek, her eyes were pleading and sad. Tears, on his fingers, shed out of fear.

-I think the seed sprouting from my back

Is the reason for my ache-

_Johnny?_

-No one will tell me where it's from

Or what it means to take-

"Squee? Please don't-!"

-This monster seed inside of me

Is talking and I hear-

_**It goes on her head, you imbecile!**_

-That voices with no faces

Can be such a cause for fear-

"Squee. You don't have to stay here. Let me up and I'll take you out of here. We'll go where ever you want to go. Far away, Squee. We'll go far away from here, just let me up." He looked up from where he was putting the last piece of the machine into place.

"Squee?"

-I have trouble sometimes when it's just me and them

Discerning the night from day

But the way I'm feeling with them now

I doubt it matters anyway-

"Just think! I know you remember me. I know you remember telling me everything! Just think!" Her voice was cracking in panic. She could smell herself and her stomach groaned in it's emptiness.

"Squee, Please!" His eyes narrowed at her.

"Who the fuck is Squee?"

_Johnny, maybe you should let her go._

"Disgusting."

_**Isn't she just so?! KILL HER JOHNNY! RIP HER TO SHREDS! SPLATTER HER BLOOD ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND CALM OUR MASTER'S FURY!**_

There was a hint of hurt on her sniveling face. She choked and opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to change his mind but her words from earlier came back to him.

"Just carrying you down here left your stench on my skin. Why would I want to touch any other part of your useless body?" Didn't raise his voice, didn't stutter. "Me raping you is the least of your concerns at this moment." and he took a thick strap of loose leather with two rings embedded in the sides and buckled it around her head.

_**TIGHTER JOHNNY! YOU DON'T WANT IT TO SLIP OFF!**_

Mr. F's laughter echoed around his head, ricocheting off the walls. Another slip of movement in the corner of his eye and he knew he needed to finish this before he passed out.

He looped wires hanging from a pulley system above her head through the rings and fastened them. He looped another one through the strap around her middle. When he moved Margaret was staring down the end of a two pronged needle about as thick as her thumb.

"NO!" and her hysteria grew. "Don't kill me! Get me off this thing!" She jerked from side to side.

"Just think about what you're doing!"

_Let's be rational, Nny._

_**Yes, let's be rational.**_

The house grumbled around them and dust drifted down from the ceiling.

**Stop wasting time!**

-I'll capture cinders as you burn

Before what's left can flee-

Static and buzzing in his head, only now it was growing louder and louder. His eye twitched and he blinked to make it stop. She was screaming now, her shrieks causing a bubble of something he couldn't describe to fill his stomach. He felt along the wall for the switch.

-_click_-

The sound of a motor from above and below her. She paused when she felt the pressure on her head then looked up at the figure against the wall to her left. Just then the pressure started to become agonizing and she let loose a horrifying scream that knocked him back. He was sure that if someone was at the door to the lower levels they would hear it. The bubble in his gut grew. Tension, like the leather strap cracking her skull was building in him.

-Then I'll let you go

These ashes I hold-

"FUCK! YOU SICK LITTLE BASTARD!" The caring, fearful Margaret was gone and she was cursing him, screaming things he didn't understand. But she wanted him to know her anger so she kept on screaming even with cracks and clicks filling her ears.

-Because I know who I was

Would never forgive me-

"SICK TWISTED MOTHER FUCKER!" and the motor started up in the spike in front of her face but she wasn't scared.

"YOU WANT TO SEE ME SCREAM! FUCK YOU YOU ASSWHOLE, I WON'T SCREAM FOR YOU OR ANYONE. ENJOY WATCHING ME DIE YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!" her lips pursed and she silenced most of the noises she was making, save for the tiny groans and sharp intakes of breathes on the verge of a cry for help. But no, the little prick was enjoying it and she wouldn't give that much to him. She couldn't.

The pressure reached a breaking point, something in her head popped and she couldn't see.

"RRRrrr-AHHHHHHH!" He sank to the floor, his body shaking, as one of her eyes fell out entirely and the other dangled from from her face by a stringy blood vessel. It swung from side to side, leaving smears across her cheek and nose. He covered his mouth with his hand.

Margaret's nails sliced through the leather under her hands and when they reached the cold metal beneath the padding they broke off in bloody pieces. She didn't seem to notice and at first neither did Nny.

The straps held her in place, even when she thrashed so violently that the bench creaked, even when the spike began to drill a hole through her skull, even when her screams became less human. She was howling and shrieking past a believable point and Johnny was a huddled, shaking ball on the ground beneath the switch.

Blood was pouring from her skull and she gurgled, it filling her mouth and nose as it fell. Nny looked up from where he was laying at the sound of it. So familiar.

-_Todd?_- a flash of something, a house he could barely remember. A door opened and a woman was molded into a bed, unmoving.

"Ahh!HaaAAAAAAH!argggl . . . ."

The bubble in him burst and the most disturbing laugh escaped him. Margaret had gone silent outside of the breaking of her skull.

**I didn't think she'd last that long.**

_**Look at what's left of her head!**_

"-HA! HA! HEEEEAHHHAHAHAHAHAH-!"

_Nny?_

_**Still so much to do!**_

**The blood is draining nicely.**

He pointed to the drain below the bench. Margaret's twitching fingers seemed to do so as well. Nny was still laughing.

"-Did-did you s-see the look on her face?! HAHAHHAH!HAHAHAHAHEEEEHAHEHEEHE!"

He was getting dizzy, the laughter was still stinging his tongue and his stomach couldn't take it. Blackness loomed and he couldn't stop.

_It'll never stop._

X

_**Wake up, sleepy head. It's time.**_

**The blood's done draining and the wall needs a coat of it.**

_I'm so sorry, Nny._

"How long was I out?"

_Not very long._

He painted the wall for the first time. After dragging the buckets from a room so much further down than he'd like to have gone, upstairs. Brushes were there too, brand new. Neither the doughboys nor Bunny said a word the entire time. When he was done the house had calmed, satisfied with all he'd done.

Nny leaned against the wall with them and silently wondered why the doughboys were in the room at all. He couldn't have brought them here with the buckets he'd had to carry.

_**Yes, this'll do for awhile. Don't let it dry for too long, Nny. Make sure to keep it good and wet. Put the lids on those cans so the blood'll last us.**_

_You need to get out for awhile Nny, Go outside, get something to eat. You're sick, you can't stay here like this. Stop staring at the wall like that._

Everything felt fuzzy again. He was numb, even as he trudged upstairs. He remembered her screams and the delicious happiness it brought him. The numbness started to ebb away.

He became fully aware of where he was when he reached the top of the stairs leading to the ground floor. There was still glass everywhere. It glittered like it did the last time he saw it, as the sunlight began to slide through the windows. He'd been down there all night.

_It's a new day, Johnny_.

"Yes." It was too bright, shinning in and making the floor sparkle in an eerie way. Bunny's cage was in a place he couldn't remember putting it and the doughboys were leaning against the back of the couch.

_**It's a brand new day and you're still sitting here? Get up Johnny boy! Go kill some of those annoying children down the street. Enjoy yourself!**_

**The sun is shinning rather brightly today, is it not?**

"It is." The light made his eyes hurt after being in the basements for so long. It was too bright.

**That means it's even brighter outside Nny.**

_I think the fresh air 'll do you some good._

"I don't think I'll go outside today."

_You still haven't eaten._

"I'm not that hungry anymore."

_You're going to die like this, too stubborn to go out in the daytime, too angry to get some food for yourself. Stop doing this, a short walk to a convenience store won't kill you._

A look passed between the doughboys and Mr. Fuck stepped forward. Nny was standing in the doorway, his back to them, preparing to go down.

_**Oh, yes. Listen to the Bunny Johnny! Go outside, enjoy the sunshine. Don't even bother to change out of the clothes you're wearing!**_

Nny's grip on the door frame tightened.

**The Bunny's right, Nny. You are looking a little worse for wear.**

His head twitched to an angle and he disappeared down the steps. Bunny, nervously sniffed through the bars of his cage then moved away when his estranged owner could be heard coming back up.

_**OOOOOO-what'cha going to do with that, Johnny-boy?**_

**It is a bit drafty in here at night.**

Johnny slammed the boards to the ground, ignoring the crunching of glass as he nearly kicked Bunny's cage in an effort to get back downstairs. Rattling noises perked Bunny's ears and when Nny threw an open box of nails by his cage he dove under the dirty bedding.

_Nny! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_

No one outside seemed to notice him violently slamming the boards against the window and nailing them in, no one looked up from their watering or dog walking to hear him yelling about eating glass and-

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! JUST SHUT UP!" another board haphazardly thrown into place, they did little to relieve D-boy's draft or the sunlight that lit up the room but allowed him privacy from the people who didn't really watch him in the first place. It became quiet for a moment, maybe two.

-I can't help but to think when you're not around

That I've lost a piece of my mind-

Muffled voices, maybe one voice speaking in different pitches, the sound of something hitting the wall and a tiny shriek. Inside everything grew abruptly still. Bunny's cage was overturned and Nny was kneeling between it and the couch, disbelief and grief on his face. His rabbit was a tiny crumpled body on the floor a little ways from him. A splotch on the wall above him from the point of contact, and one could see that Johnny had thrown him against the wall in his fit of rage. He crawled on his hands and knees towards his friend and carefully picked him up.

-I'll do anything to get this memory back

As to cease this endless grind-

"Bunny?" no reply, silence rang true through his head and the emptiness felt lonely. The doughboys remained quiet as well, saying nothing as Bunny's limp body remained cradled in Johnny's palm. In a few hours, when his friend would go stiff, Johnny decided he would put him someplace where he could always be seen, perhaps on the wall over the splotch or maybe somewhere downstairs, he couldn't be sure. He would decide when the time came.

-_Who am I to pray for happiness?_- Words in his own voice, or maybe Bunny's . . .

When Bunny was put in place Nny dropped to his knees again and just stared up at him, looking for all he was worth like a man in prayer.

-My little Monster whines and groans

Longing for a snack-

He remained on his knees as long as he could before sliding down to lay on his side amidst the broken glass and nails. The silence was oppressive and Nny was almost glad when the buzzing started up again, he grabbed fist-fulls of hair in his hands as the swirl of noise gathered force behind his ears.

"Bunny, I'm so- . . . I don't think there's any way to go back, I don't think I even remember what it was like before. What am I supposed to do?"

-He claims to know the way to go

To get my pieces back-

X

End

Sorry it's so long, killing Margaret took longer than I thought it would.

Until next time. For the whole poem; review with your email address, make sure it actually shows up or I can't give it to you. You'll probably notice how rearranged the bits in this chapter are. Let me know about what you thought, mistakes I made or just about how generally bad or good you thought this was and I'll get started posting Spiderfly as soon as I can.


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